


I Saw Mikey Kissing Santa Clause

by kiraisstillhere



Series: Underneath The Mistletoe Last Night [1]
Category: Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, The Academy Is...
Genre: Christmas, Cute, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Trans Female Character, florist, she's trans af, tattoo artist - Freeform, william is actually willow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 22:16:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5515322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiraisstillhere/pseuds/kiraisstillhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Mikey is a tattoo artist and falls in love with florist Pete in the most awkward way possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Saw Mikey Kissing Santa Clause

**Author's Note:**

> yay yay a cute little fic about love and snow and take out and i'll hopefully post more of these anyway please kudos and comment because i wrote this all at midnight or later it would be nice to send love to me

Mikey Way was very late.

Not that he hadn't been late to work before, but this time he was extremely late and had a client waiting for him and then he was  probably booked with people who were allowing their children to get tattoos that they would most certainly regret later in life. And if Willow wasn't there he was going to have to do the day's piercings and he was already frazzled and oh my god he was going to spill this damn "relaxing" tea for the fourth time this morning and holy  _shit_  was that his first tattoo of the day?

He very nearly spilled his relaxing tea on the pavement because the (albeit short) man was grinning as he looked up from his watch and clearly anti-Christian Starbucks cup. 

"Uh, hi-hey, hey man, sorry I'm running late," Mikey apologized sheepishly, running his hand through the shock of blonde on the top of his head. He transferred his travel mug to his left hand as he fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the tattoo parlor's doors. 

"Again," Mikey said, holding the door open as his client wandered in, "I'm really sorry, dude, I spilled this tea, and my brother was taking forever in the shower and I had to change my jeans and really, this morning has been a wild ride."

"Hey man, it's cool," the guy said as Mikey looked over from the counter, where he had been busily plugging in all of the lights that showed off the various artists' works. Mikey, Gabe, and Andy, plus Willow's piercings showcased on the end. Mikey took this moment to notice that his client was not only a very chill guy, but also a moderately attractive guy. Okay, maybe a little more than moderately attractive. Why did hot people always want to get tattoos? Mikey always tattooed attractive people and they just got more attractive. It was a struggle, in Mikey's opinion, being too attractive for your own good. It made people ramble. Like Mikey was doing right now.

"This place doesn't have very good lighting, huh?"

Mikey shook his head, an easy grin spreading onto his face. This was his favorite part of his job - getting to know his clients and making them feel comfortable. "Nah, not really. But it's home. I've got LED lights and stuff like that by the actual work place, if that quells your fears a little. You have a particular music choice?" He finished plugging in the showcase lights and sauntered to the turntable, running his fingers over the stack of vinyls beside it. 

"I'm partial to The Clash, if you've got them," the guy said. 

"Combat Rock or London Calling?" Mikey asked, grabbing two of the records and showing off the album covers.

"London Calling, if I may."

Mikey jokingly bowed his head and put the other album back on the stack before gently placing the other record on the player. Joe Strummer's voice filled the parlor as Mikey made his way over to his customer. 

"I never introduced myself," he said, offering his hand. "I'm Mikey."

"Pete. That's a pretty wicked spider you got there," Pete said, nodding toward the spider that Gerard had drawn and Mikey had loved so much he got it done in the shop. It was on Gabe's display board.

"Thanks, my brother drew it. It's pretty fucking awesome."

They shook hands and Mikey jerked his head toward a much better lit area behind the main desk and showcase walls. "If you'll follow me, we can talk about what you've set up."

\--

"So I'm guessing Willow set this appointment up for you?" Mikey asked, prepping his gear. He hadn't even known until Gabe called him and said it was his turn to open shop early on account of "you gotta do something with someone early but I don't know Willow told me to call you" followed by "can I go back to sleep now, babe?"

"Pretty girl? Big brown eyes?" Pete asked from the chair. "Long hair and a load of earrings?

"Yep," Mikey answered as he made his way back to his stool. "But don't let Gabe hear you saying that stuff about his girl," he warned jokingly. "Willow is his  _mamacita_ , his  _flora_ , his whatever-other-Spanish-pet-names he calls her. They just got engaged a few months ago, and they're planning the wedding now."

Pete nodded approvingly as Mikey placed the drawing of Howl and Sophie on his forearm and started dabbing it to make the ink stay before he tattooed over it.

"I wish I could fall in love like they did," Mikey continued casually as  he check the ink, not really caring about his train of thoughts. Pete was pretty cool, and he'd already been here talking for an hour. And didn't everyone dream about falling in love at first sight at least once? "It was like, Gabe and Andy opened the place, offered me a job, and I told Willow we were looking for a piercing artist because I couldn't juggle both skills in a day, and next thing you know, I'm being roped into this elaborate engagement plan by Gabe."

Pete grinned. "Lots of flowers, right?"

Mikey nodded seriously, peeling the paper off and making sure that the piece wold stay. "So many flowers, I thought we were going to have a bee-pocalypse or something."

"Dude, I'm the florist that provided those flowers. Their engagement basically put my shop on the map!" 

"No fuckin' way, you're lying! What's the chance?"

"I'm not! Those two made my little flower shop become the go-to place after their engagement went viral."

Mikey was in love with this guy, seriously. He was attractive, and had a nice taste in music, and he was a florist, for crying out loud. A goddamn  _florist_. And he was bouncing his knee.

"Lay still, man," Mikey said with a humored grin. "I'm starting."

\--

It took about an hour  and a half to get all of the details correct and fill everything in properly. When they were finally done, Pete said that his tattoo looked fucking great, and he would definitely stop by again.

"Unless you want to stop by first?" Pete offered, with a slightly hopeful grin, leaning against the front desk. He slid his business card to Mikey across the counter. Mikey accepted the card, but was internally screaming because damn, this guy looked good, and he wanted to hang with Mikey.

"You could bring Chinese takeout and I'd be happy," Pete said quickly. "Seriously, I work at the flower shop from seven in the morning until like, midnight. I know my mom always texts me about dinner, hell, she's offered to drive all the way out to Jersey to give me food."

Mikey laughed and checked what was printed on the card as the computer took its sweet time booting itself up.

Sweet Little Buds, Flower Shop

Pete Wentz

Walk-Ins Welcome, No Orders Over the Phone

5564 Lotus Street

He nodded distractedly as he typed up Pete's information into the computer and asked him to swipe his card. 

"You're going to need these if you want to keep that tattoo looking brighter than my brother's future," Mikey said with a grin, ducking under the counter and revealing enough lotion to supply a small army, like the rat army in The Nutcracker. Mikey almost told Pete what he was thinking, but thought better of it once he realized that talking about Tchaikovsky this early in the morning would confuse people. 

Pete stared at the bottles, and briefly wondered if he could use it for something other than tattoo maintenance before shaking his head. He wasn't supposed to be thinking stuff like that about every guy and girl that caught his attention. But Mikey was quite nice to look at, and he'd certainly be nicer to imagine...

"You alright, dude?" Mikey asked, holding Pete's card out to him along with a plastic bag.

"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm fine, just got a lot of stuff to think about, what with the holidays around the corner and all," Pete said, running a hand through his hair.

"Bleach it recently?"

"What?" Pete stopped in his tracks, his hand still on top of his head.

"Your hair? Are you naturally blond with a beard that dark? Or do you dye your beard?" Mikey asked with a smirk. 

Pete grabbed his card and put it in his wallet before taking the bag from Mikey. "I, uh, I bleach my hair. My younger son thinks I'm a natural blonde, so at least one person doesn't know the truth," he said with an embarrassed grin. "What about your brother's future, hm? Brighter than my hair?"

Mikey let out a short burst of laughter. "Maybe I'll tell you some other time."

Pete was grateful for the tattoo parlor's shit lighting, because he knew he was blushing. Why did he ever give Mikey his card, he thought as he hurried out of the place, wrapping his scarf around his neck. And why did he tell him about his mom and his lack of three square meals a day? Man alive, Pete was probably so desperate to fall in love that he'd tell even the tattoo artist his life story. Ever since Gabe and Willow's proposal had gone viral (including the full video where Willow flipped the bird to all of the people who bullied her for being transgender and then promptly kissed her new fiance), hundreds of people showed up at the doors if his New Jersey shop to get flowers for whatever reason, be it proposals or weddings or fiftieth birthdays. Pete saw so many people in love, and it was getting a little old telling his clients that he ran the shop alone.

He fumbled as he got his keys from his coat pocket, fingers shaking from the cold on his arm that had the sleeve rolled up, showing off his new artwork. He unlocked his shop's door and bolted inside as quickly as possible, throwing his bag from the parlor and his coat underneath the counter before turning on the heater and getting to work.

\--

Pete was three-quarters of the way to dreamland when he nearly knocked his cash register onto the tiles. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked to the shop's glass doors, squinting into the darkness to see what hell was going on for a good five minutes before realizing that it would be a lot easier if he was wearing his glasses.

Once he'd finally found the glasses, he could see that there was a dark figure standing outside his door, rapping on the glass lightly.

"Who's that rapping at my chamber door?" Pete mumbled, not sure if he was actually quoting The Raven, or the song his friend Lars had made for one of his club playlists. Honestly, Pete had never thought that strippers and songs about anti-Transcendentalism would pair well, but they seemed to be made for each other.

Once he got closer, Pete realized that it was Mikey, standing outside in the snow with a plastic bag, shivering but smiling beneath a massive knit scarf.

"Mikey?" Pete asked, squinting.

He nodded and pushed past Pete into the shop, stomping the snow from his boots. Pete hadn't even noticed that it had started snowing - he'd been more focused on flowers and keeping his tattoo in good condition.

"First heavy snow after a week," Mikey said, sounding slightly irked, but not truly upset about anything. "And it happens the one day that I feel like going out at eleven at night."

Pete looked at the bag as Mikey set it on the counter next to the register. "You didn't."

Mikey nodded, just a little boastfully. He'd gone out to his favorite Chinese place, one that had been his job before the tattoo parlor, and asked the owner for some of the best dishes. He had thought Pete was lying, but the fact that he was still half-asleep at the register at eleven-thirty proved otherwise. He felt a little bit of pride swell in his chest as Pete's eye widened when he revealed six boxes of Chinese takeout.

"Oh my god, you're amazing," Pete gushed as Mikey handed him a plastic fork and a steaming container of sesame beef. Pete looked at it for a second before his confidence bounced back into his chest. "Uh, did you bring any vegetarian options?"

Mikey moved the beef away from Pete and revealed some vegetable Lo Mein in place of it. "I got your back man."

Pete accepted the food and it was silent except for the sound of chewing as the pair finished off three containers of food.

"So," Pete said in an awkward attempt to seem casual."Earlier, you were telling me about your brother?"

Mikey raised his eyebrows as he set his own orange chicken down. "You still want to hear about him?"

"Well, yeah," Pete said like it was obvious. "Why? You bring all of your customers takeout when they tell you about their life?"

"Nope, this one's a first for me," Mikey answered with a smile. "Anyway,my brother, if you're still serious about hearing about him."

Pete nodded.

"Where to start?" Mikey looked up to the sky, wondering, remembering. "Well, we're both artists. He paints like a god, he makes backdrops for Broadway and draws storyboards for movies, and he still has Star Wars themed blankets, so if that's a sign of anything, it's that even nerds get paid well."

Pete nodded, enraptured with Mikey's brother, and he'd only heard a sentence or two. Or maybe he just liked to stare at Mikey's eyes. Either way, Pete was caught in a trance. God, he wished that Mikey had the same feelings for him. Bronx and Saint would totally dig this guy. Not that their moms weren't great - they were. That's why they'd gotten married and had kids together. But neither had worked out in the long run. They were still on good terms, and they all hung out, but Bronx was starting to get curious.

"Uh, he's really supportive of the tattoo gig, but he won't come past the counter unless all of the jobs are done for the day. He's got a thing with needles, which our mom thinks is hilarious, because I'm a tattoo artist and he feels obliged to visit at least once  a month."

"Obliged, huh? Didn't spend enough time together growing up?"

Mikey shrugged. "He was three years older than me. After he left for college I think he felt bad, because he used to get bullied at school a bit, and all of their younger siblings turned on me in his absence."

Pete nodded in sympathy. "That blows, dude."

 _So do I_ , Mikey thought.

"What about you?" Mikey asked, leaning against the counter. "What's your life story?"

Pete shrugged. "It's not very exciting, I'll tell you that. I always had a thing with nature - loved growing flowers and gardens and all that fun stuff. I got bullied at school about it. The other kids called me gay but the joke's on them because I'm bisexual anyway..." Pete trailed off. "I moved to a different high school in Chicago after middle school because my mom didn't like the way people in our neighborhood treated me and my siblings. There were a lot of old people who frowned upon the whole "white dad, black mom" thing. I met my best friends there. Andy's the one who convinced me to move out here after I divorced my second wife. The Andy who works in your tattoo parlor, to be exact. We left Joe and Patrick in Chicago, but they visit sometimes. I've got both of my kids living with me, I'm the real "parent" type. Both of my wives were great though," Pete added quickly. "We still talk and all, and we all agreed that it would be easier for our kids to move with me and Andy. Saint's mom still lives in Illinois, and Bronx's mom lives in California. The boys are sweet little kids, they'd love you, honestly."

"So, are you dating Andy or something?" Mikey asked, tilting his head.

Pete was caught off-guard for a moment. "What? No, no. Andy's straight. We were roommates for a while, and then he calls me one day and just goes, "what do you think about moving to New Jersey?" Like, what kind of question is that? We're literally living with two kids and I'm pretty sure all of out neighbors think we're gay, but we don't have any money, Andy."

Mikey laughs in another short burst. "He just wanted you to pick up and move to a new state?"

Pete nodded. "I told him I'd have to think about it, and next thing you know, I'm opening up my own flower shop instead of worker the gardening section of a hardware store and my kids are living in an apartment upstairs and going to school and wondering where Uncle Andy is." 

Mikey grinned before looking outside, where the snow was really starting to set in. There were already bluffs of the stuff building on the sidewalk and in the street. Pete glanced at the clock above the doors and shook his head. "Man, you can't go out in that. You'd become my store's ice sculpture overnight. Come upstairs, you can sleep on the couch."

Pete lead Mikey to the back room, which smelled like forty different flowers, and Pete would always insist that it was only thirty-eight, but whatever. He unlocked another door, and Mikey followed him up a flight of stairs.

"Usually that door's unlocked, unless of course, it's after bedtime. Safety first and all that jazz," Pete said over his shoulder. He unlocked the door to the upper floor and let Mikey in.

"This is my place, I guess. Be careful of the floor - there are a lot of Hot Wheels lying around."

\--

"Dad?"

Pete sat up slowly, rubbing his eye and reaching rather ungracefully for his glasses. After nearly poking his eye out and then stabbing his ear, Pete finally managed to get them on, to find Bronx standing in the doorway, clutching a stuffed walrus that Ashlee had bought when he was born. Pete checked his clock. 6:30.

"Hey, little man. What's up?" Pete asked, motioning his son into his arms. 

Bronx ran over and jumped onto the edge of the bed before crawling into Pete's lap and leaning up to whisper in his dad's ear.

"There's someone on our couch," Bronx said in a serious whisper.

Oh, shit. Pete had completely forgotten about Mikey as soon as he crashed on their couch and Pete had checked on his kids. Then he'd gone to bed and slept, until now, apparently. He picked up Bronx and put him on his hip before walking out of his bedroom.

"Is your brother up?" Pete asked, looking at Bronx, who was leaning his head in the crook of Pete's neck. Bronx shook his head and clutched his walrus closer.

Thank goodness, Pete sighed internally. If Saint was awake he didn't know what he'd do. He was down for making Bronx and Mikey breakfast, and waking Saint up. He walked into the living room, where Mikey was sitting on the couch in his clothes from the night before, checking his phone.

"Hey, Mikey," Pete said, readjusting Bronx on his hip. "Sleep well?"

Mikey stood up slowly, stretching and grinning slowly. "Of all the couches I've slept on, yours was probably the most comfortable, if that means anything."

Pete smiled easily. "I'm honored. Want any breakfast? Or do you have to get to work?"

"Is he living with us, Dad?" Bronx asked rather bluntly.

"Ah, no, little man."

"Then why are you making him breakfast?"

"Because it's the nice thing to do, kiddo," Pete answered, setting Bronx down. The little boy stared indignantly at his dad, his chin jutting upward, walrus still held in his little fingers.

"Dad makes the best pancakes in the history of ever," Bronx said seriously, turning to Mikey and planting his feet firmly.

"Does he now?" Mikey asked, squatting down to get to Bronx's height.

Bronx nodded, looking Mikey directly in the eyes. "They're so good."

Pete turned Bronx toward the kitchen and gently nudged him forward. "Why don't you go see if we have the ingredients for them, hmm?"

Half an hour later, Mikey had to agree with Bronx: Pete did make the best pancakes in the history of ever. He was pretty much a fire hazard in the kitchen, but Bronx refused to help make breakfast unless Mikey helped, which lead to Bronx showing Mikey how to crack eggs on the edge of the table while Mikey held Bronx's walrus (Rufus, he was called) upright so that he could see as well. Bronx earned himself a new nickname and made it abundantly clear that _only_ Mikey could call him by it. Eventually, the pancakes were made, Bronx had somehow managed to get blueberry syrup in his hair, and Rufus was going to need a run through the washing machine downstairs if he ever wanted to got outside again.

Mikey's phone buzzed from the living room and he got up from the table, promising Bronx that he wasn't leaving just yet, and answered the phone.

Pete sat in the kitchen with Bronx, sipping on a mug of hot chocolate because Bronx had put up such a fight and asked Mikey what he preferred, and Pete was beginning to wonder if Mikey was trying to win Bronx's appreciation, because frankly, it was working. And maybe he was winning a little affection with Pete too, because anyone who got a long with his kids was someone Pete could consider dating and not just merely jacking off to.

"That was Gabe," Mikey said, reappearing in the kitchen. "He says I've got work off today."

"Lucky you," Pete commented, glancing at the clock on the microwave. "Sadly, it's Friday and I don't open until later, but I have to get Bronx and Saint to  daycare before the girls start wondering where you are," he says, shifting from talking to Mikey to talking to Bronx.

"I don't wanna go," Bronx said, crossing his arms.

"And why's that?" Pete asked, looking Bronx in the eyes.

Bronx looked at Mikey. "I wanna spend time with Mikey. Saint can go without me."

"You'll miss your Friday treat!" Pete said incredulously. Bronx never missed a Friday treat. Ever.

Bronx pursed his lips, thinking over his options. "I'll go then," he finally sighed. "But I still wanna spend time with Mikey."

"Maybe some other time, monster," Mikey said, grinning. He leaned down. "I have a feeling that your dad will let me back in sometime."

Bronx looked at Mikey as if he were gauging how truthful he was, but finally ran off to his room to get ready.

Mikey stood up and moved next to Pete.

"You know, uh, if you want to, you can call me," Mikey mumbled awkwardly, taking out a sharpie and scrawling his number on a piece of scrap paper from the pile next to a jar of pens on the counter.

\--

If someone had told Pete four months ago that he was going to be waking up next to his boyfriend in an apartment above his own flower shop, Pete would have lost his shit. Four months ago, he was near broke, working in a hardware store, trying to tell old people about petunias, and living  with his two kids and friend in Chicago. He would have never guessed that Andy's friend would open a tattoo parlor in New Jersey, much less that he'd pack his bags and  _move_  to New Jersey. Four months ago, Pete would have laughed out loud at the mere thought of having a rather functional, albeit small, living space, with Bronx going through his stubborn-as-hell stage and Saint learning to talk.

Four months ago, Pete didn't have Mikey or any of his friends or a flower shop that went viral because of a proposal, and four months ago, Pete would not have had to pay for plane tickets back to Illinois.

"Sometimes, I wish I'd never met you," Pete said exasperatedly, bumping Mikey's chin with the top of his head. "Then I wouldn't have had to tell my parents and friends, and then I wouldn't have had to spend all this time looking for cheap plane tickets because they want to meet you during Thanksgiving, and for goodness sake, I just want to sleep."

"Pete, you literally just bought the tickets. We can go to bed if you need to," Mikey said matter-of-factly as he stood up.

Pete whined as his face flopped into the couch cushion. 

"Dad, you're going to wake Saint up."

Both Pete and Mikey turned to see Bronx standing in his favorite shark pyjamas with Rufus by his side.

"Bronx, honey, why aren't you in bed?" Pete asked slowly. 

"You guys are being all gross."

"Go back to bed."

Mikey walked over and swooped up Bronx into a bridal carry, kissing him on the forehead. Pete grinned sleepily, hearing Mikey tell Bronx how much he loved him before tucking him in and promising to read him a chapter of the Magic Tree House book that they were apparently starting tomorrow.

Mikey came back to the living room and grabbed Pete's hand, pulling him up and heading for their bedroom, Pete half-asleep before he'd even made it to the door way.

\--

Mikey held Bronx's hand and Saint on his hip as he kissed Pete. Then Pete kissed Saint and Bronx, and grabbed his suitcase.

"Why do you have to go to Grandma and Grandpa's?" Bronx asked, sticking his lower lip out. "You're gonna miss Christmas."

"I'm not going to miss Christmas, little man," Pete said as he ruffled a hand through Bronx's hair. "And you have to keep Dad in check for me, okay?"

Bronx looked at Mikey, then back to Pete before nodding dutifully. "No pizza for breakfast," he said in the serious way that only he could.

"Aw, c'mon monster," Mikey grinned. "We can have pizza for breakfast once, can't we?"

"They're supposed to be healthy," Pete sighed. 

"With you as their father?" Mikey chided.

Pete stood up and Mikey kissed him again, before letting go of Bronx's hand and shooing Pete away. "Go, you're gonna miss your flight."

\--

Mikey saw his boyfriend standing on the house's porch. With pink hair, apparently. And a Santa hat.

"Merry Christmas, babe," Pete said with a massive smile, holding red and green flowers in a bouquet.

Mikey's smile felt like it was cracking his face as he excitedly jogged over to Pete and grabbed his hand. "I thought you weren't going to be back in time. Guys, Pete's back from Chicago," Mikey shouted, dragging Pete to their living room.

"Dad!" Bronx shouted back, racing into the front room. They'd only bought the house after returning back from Chicago in November, meaning that they's had it for a grand total of one month, and Bronx already knew the place as if he'd lived there forever. Mikey took the bouquet and filled a vase to put them in before returning to the couch, now next to Pete.

Gabe looked over from the couch, his arm slung around Willow's shoulder. "You're late," he commented. 

Willow turned and looked over her nose at Pete. "You almost missed presents," she said with a grin.

"Love you too, Willow," Pete said, a snort escaping. 

"You better," Gabe said in a mock threatening voice before leaning over to kiss Willow's nose, who giggled and returned the gesture. "Without her, both of you would be single and whining on Christmas."

Andy shrugged from his position on the carpet and stood up. Mikey and Pete both rolled their eyes and Andy reached under the Christmas tree, revealing a very small bag stuffed with colorful tissue paper. He looked at the tag carefully.

"This says: To Pete and Mikey, From the Rest of Us."

Pete and Mikey looked at each other and Bronx clamored off of his beanbag chair to grab it. He didn't open it until he was carefully balanced on the back of the couch, giving Pete a heart attack. They were showered with a load of colors before silence settled in the room. Pete and Mikey looked up to see Bronx (now sitting on Andy's shoulders) holding mistletoe above them.

"Aunt Willow says you gotta kiss under this stuff," Bronx informed them.

Pete smiled at Mikey and shrugged, grabbing Mikey's face and kissing him, while they heard Bronx's "ewwwww!" in the background.


End file.
